The Sorcerer Prince
by milky0candy
Summary: What if Cersei decided against aborting her first baby, the Baratheon trueborn? What if he turns out to be nothing anyone expected? Not a warrior like his father wanted him to be, but a scholarly child with an unhealthy interest in the arcane? Follow the story of Durran Baratheon, heir to the 7 kingdoms - the one that would defy fate and Gods. Starts a few years before GoT events.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N**** :**_** I don't know if everyone is in character, but I am trying. I also DO NOT aim to create a Mary Sue (Gary Stu?) OC, and hope that I am successful. This story will mostly follow the prince's POV, sometimes with a few others to offer a different perspective. Music : The whole GoT soundtrack, mostly the Stannis Baratheon and Targaryen theme. I hope you will enjoy this.**_

Cersei's POV

Cersei glanced outside of the window, the fresh air brushing against her face. Beyond the sound of life emanating from King's Landing, she could hear the sea brushing lazily against the stony shores - not too unlike Casterly Rock. She absent-mindedly caressed her soon bulging belly, her other hand clasped around a warm cup of moon tea. She gazed down to it, peering at her own reflection through the steam.

The child growing within her is Robert's - that much she knew. She has barely been married to him for three months and yet she already missed her moonblood twice. She has only started bedding her golden twin again not even a couple of weeks ago.

Cersei brought the cup closer to her, but then paused. Perhaps - a small flicker of hope passed her - Perhaps the King might give her more consideration if she births him an heir. One that would look like him. If Robert won't care for her directly he might do as an extension of his love for his child - _our _child...And if he doesn't, she'll raise Robert's own blood against him. She would gain satisfaction from doing so then, Cersei knew as much.

She tossed out the tea down onto the lower courtyard without a second thought.

* * *

The sea darkened quickly while the Queen took a walk on the beach, burdened by her protruding stomach. Streaks of lightning lit up the sky, casting a red glow onto the surrounding black clouds. A terrible storm was coming, from the looks of it.

"Your Grace, perhaps we should head back.." One of the Kingsguard accompanying her, Meryn Trent spoke up while looking speculatively at the horizon. Cersei paid him no heed for she felt something stirring up in her womb. She doubled over, her hands grasping onto a large cold rock as she first felt a very painful contraction. Her baby was coming during this very inopportune moment. She heard her guards shouting behind her, probably giving orders. The pain and the howling wind blurred all the sounds together. Another thunderclap broke her out of her haze and she watched as one of the dried trees on the nearby islet caught fire.

The waters grew powerful, progressing closer to where she stood. The salty mist sprayed her face and soaked her clothing. That was when crippling pain suddenly crushed against her body a second time, almost causing her to black out. She was faintly aware that she was jaggedly carried back into the Holdfast.

Many hours later she held the pink newborn against her breast, her face giving away her exhaustion. The devastating storm abated only minutes after her baby was born - A few places in King's Landing caught fire while others were flooded. It earned her child the nickname of Thunderborn before he was even given his first name. To her great surprise both Robert and Jaime remained nearby during labour. The hunting trip must've been cancelled due to the weather which made the King remain at his wife's proximity while she gave him an heir.

A little boy. She looked up questioningly at her husband but he only had eyes for the frail little thing between her arms. A mop of black hair and two wide blue eyes - a Baratheon trueborn.

"His name will be Durran. Durran Baratheon, the Thunderborn." Robert declared, his tone firm. "His coming has been marked by the most violent weather King's Landing has witnessed for many years. It is only fitting that he is named after the first of the Storm Kings. The one who defied Gods."

Cersei acquiesced. She had wanted to give him a subtly Lannister name, but Durran will do. Durran Thunderborn is a name befitting of a great monarch.

* * *

Durran's POV

He was five then, and already knew his way around the secret passages of the Red Keep. Since he could walk, losing his guards has become his favorite past time, which caused his mother a great deal of anger.

Durran did not care much for it however as he already learned to enjoy the modicum of freedom it gave him. He waddled through the streets, dressed in rags so that he could run around and play with some of the boys there. Every time he would sneak into the kitchens first to steal some food and then share it around with his peers in the back alleys. To them he was known as Derek, and Derek became increasingly popular as a good friend among the urchins of King's Landing.

He was looking at the different wares offered by Lyseni traders when he heard a loud yell a few stalls away.

"Come back here, yer rascals!" A large, pot bellied man shouted. His face was contorted in an enraged expression, gaining the coloring of a prune. Durran saw his friends scatter off, screaming "Run!", but he was too late. The fat man caught him by his arm and pulled him away ;

"Thought I wouldn't see eh? Trying to steal from my pocket too weren't you?" The man's hold on his arm was painful and would certainly leave bruises.

"I promise it wasn't me!" Durran tried to protest, but was slapped across the face. He could taste the iron in the back of his throat.

"Leave the boy alone, Lorro." A voice laced with an exotic accent resounded. "It wasn't him, he was in front of my shop when that happened."

Durran turned around and saw the old man that spoke up in his defense. His hair and beard was almost white due to age, his cheeks hollow and his nose curved downwards, giving him a falcon like look. The man had a long wooden walking stick and wore a gray cloak. He parted it slightly, revealing more dull colored clothing underneath. However, he had a golden ring and a large ruby adorning it, showing that he was wealthier than common folk.

"Are you certain, Xaharos?" The pot bellied merchant asked him, still suspicious. The elderly man simply nodded and Durran was unhanded reluctantly, his head still buzzing due to the blow. He lost balance and almost fell to the filthy ground when Xaharos caught him, holding him up.

"Come with me boy. Let us get you into my shop and clean you up."

Durran looked up to the old man, whispering his gratitude as he was ushered into what looked like a bookstore - walls were all covered with wooden shelves, filled with dusty tomes. There was only enough space for a small table in the middle and two chairs. On the table stood some very odd objects - there was an array of wooden bowls and glass tubes. In the center stood a copper sphere made of many copper circles, enveloping a smaller copper sphere. Many metallic bulbs were attached to the outer circles, with measuring graduations on them - Durran heard maester Pycelle mention such objects for the study of stars. He saw many layers of parchment scattered on the table's surface, on which was drawn many shapes; triangles, squares intertwined. The young prince has not yet studied Geometry but he could recognize it. Xaharos was a man of many knowledges, it seemed, and this fact bode well with Durran.

"Wait here." The old bookkeeper said, making the young boy sit. He went to the back of the store, probably gathering medicinal salves. Durran could not help but start reading the notes in front of him ;

_"[...] Many have tried before to transmute different metals into other kinds without taking in consideration the physical properties of such metals, namely the size and weight correlation between the initial product and the resulting one. This is the reason why many tried to turn Iron to Gold, but to no avail. I found out that turning a metal into Gold would require for said metal sample to have approximately the same weight and size than a Gold sample. The closest was Lead. [...] I don't believe Lead to be a hybrid compound like my contemporaries, which does not make it amenable to changes in it's structure. Unless tremendous force is applied to break it apart and reassemble it - but would it be worth it in the end? Mining Gold might perhaps be simply less costly, in many ways [...]"_

However proficient in reading the young boy was, a lot of the notions mentioned seemed beyond his level of understanding.

"A boy can read." Xaharos appeared in front of the table, startling Durran.

"I...I d-didn't mean to pry.." The child replied fearfully, but the elder chose to simply shake his head and smile. "You seem to be as drawn to knowledge as a fish is to water." He applied a green balm on Durran's bruised cheek delicately - it had a faint herbal smell and felt soothing. "What I am wondering however, is how a boy such as yourself came to learn his letters so well."

Durran was young but knew enough so decided that he shouldn't reveal himself as a prince, especially since he is unguarded.

"My father taught me." He replied simply. "He is one of Lord Baelish's many accountants."

From the way Xaharos looked at him, he could tell that the old man knew it was a lie. He was thankful that the issue was simply dropped as the bookkeeper gathered up his scrolls to shelf them. The boy looked at all the books surrounding him in wonder and he approached a particularly heavy looking tome called _Dragons, Wyrms and Wyverns : Their Unnatural History._ He heard a chuckle behind him ;

"Looks like you got some good tastes about you, lad. This one is very rare. I do believe it is the only copy available in Westeros."

Durran lets out a gasp of amazement, making sure to carefully wipe his hands off onto his tunic before caressing the spine. The librarian stared at him with a bemused expression.

"Do you intend to have it copied soon, my Lord?" The child asked, a note of reverence tingling his tone. Contrary to his parent's expectations, Durran gained a great love for learning since he could barely read. He was much more inclined to learn his numbers and decipher his books than watching tournaments - something his father hoped would change once he gets older.

The prince knew that to be unlikely and spent most of his time with his uncles Tyrion and Stannis as well as Lord Arryn. These men were his favorite people. However he disliked studying under Pycelle's tutelage because the maester had this annoying tendency to report all of his words and actions to mother. If every thing was up to mother, he wouldn't be allowed to step out of the Holdfast, let alone the Keep. Plus, it's not like she would agree for him to watch tournaments yet anyway. The queen already got into fights with his father on the subject - thinking it to be too much for his sensibilities. To which his father told her to go "fuck" herself, whatever that meant. She would always try to pry him away from his favorite people yet he didn't understand why - uncle Tyrion knew a lot, so did uncle Stannis and Lord Arryn. They would tell him many things, and Lord Arryn even promised him to let him sit and watch the small council once he gets six. His mother protested vehemently against that but Lord Arryn convinced his kingly father that it would be good for the prince to learn the matters of the realm.

Durran was already distancing himself from his mother; something noticeable but no one could put the finger onto why. Durran saw it though, saw the way his mother would look at him. It was as if she blamed him for a crime he did not commit, even if Durran knew that his mother loved him.

In a way he was glad that she no longer paid as much attention to him, now that she has little Joffrey. His little brother, who was as golden and green as her.

He was snapped back to reality when Xaharos answered :

"I am in the process of doing so. I think I only have a few dozen of pages left to complete." The old man pulled the tome out to set it down onto the table, looking a tad mournful. "I am copying several books at the same time - I have little room to do anything else nowadays."

It would be a waste to let such prized knowledge disappear with time and the child knew as much, which led him to a very impulsive decision.

"I could help you with it." Durran bounced on his chair with the excitement typical of a five years old. "I can write well and beautifully enough, I was told so!"

Xaharos' smile was guenine enough as he seemed to asses the small boy before him."I will have to see that." He said, before flipping the book open. He handed Durran a clay board and a stylus, before beckoning him to copy down a few sentences as a trial. Parchment was expensive after all and the old man had to know about his writing skills before letting him actually reproduce book pages. Durran grinned widely - It was not even mid morning yet and he won't need to make his presence known before lunch at the Keep.

Later on that day, he walked out of the store. He was incredibly proud of himself - in a span of three hours he managed to copy over ten pages perfectly, a feat for someone as young as him. As a reward, Xaharos lent him a small book titled _Before the Ages of Man_, treating on the obscure subject of various creatures living in Westeros before the first men arrived. He snuck back into the keep via the underground canals, his arms wrapped around his prized possession. He emerged into one of the dark corridors below the Holdfast, forgetting to check his surroundings as he usually did. He was already too absorbed in his readings.

He hitted cold steel armor.

"Your Grace? Is that you?" Ser Barristan Selmy's uttered in pure disbelief. Durran froze on the spot and looked up at the kindly knight, thankful that he didn't bump into someone else.

"Please don't tell Mother. I don't care if you tell Father but please..." The boy practically begged. He knew that he looked nothing like the prince he is supposed to be now, especially with his dirty clothing and his swollen cheek.

"Your Grace, whatever happened to you?" Barristan asked him as he took in Durran's current state. "One of your unguarded escapades again?"

"I am sorry...It just feels so lonely up out here..." The child looked down, ashamedly.

"I was out playing with the boys and we decided to check out the newly arrived Lyseni merchants. One of the boys stole something from a man's pocket, and the man thought it was me." He said, following the knight's footsteps as he was led to the king's apartments. Ser Barristan glanced at him, beckoning him to go on. Durran gulped audibly. "He grabbed my arm and yelled at me. I told him it wasn't my fault - someone else did it. He didn't care about that however, he just slapped me. There was another man there, a book keeper called Xaharos who defended me. He took me back into his store and treated me. I spent the rest of my morning copying down a rare book." The child's excitement didn't seem to abate despite what happened earlier. He then showed the knight the tome he was given for his hard work, his eyes shining with pride.

Ser Barristan couldn't help but smile at the youngling before him. "I will still have to tell your Lord Father about this."

* * *

"I know you want to spend time outside of this damned keep - Gods knows how many of us do - but surely being guarded can't be such an issue?" His father said, after dismissing Ser Barristan and the serving squire. The only people remaining in the room was him, Durran, Lord Arryn and a large balding man in red garb. A frequent drinking partner of his father. Durran eyed him wearily, but he'd wager that it would be of no use now. After all, when he entered the chamber, the Grandmaester was there; he's probably ran off to queen Cersei by now.

"Guards speak, father. If anything I do not want to be monitored and have them report on me constantly to the queen..." Durran replied, glancing up onto his sire's face. The man sighed loudly. "I don't know what it is between you and your mother, what has she done for you to disassociate from her to such a bloody extent?"

"The way she wanted me to stay away from everyone else but the ones she chose." The young prince's voice faltered a little, he was unsure about confiding to his kingly father about such delicate issues. He was afraid that his thoughts would be dismissed. "The way she tells me things about people. About you, my uncles, the Lord Hand. Everything. In a way that would make me dislike you all. It makes me feel like...like a pawn."

"Are you sure you aren't just imagining things, boy?" The King waved his hand away as Durran expected, but Lord Arryn's gaze sharpened.

"I don't think your son is lying." He finally said, slouching back against his armchair "He seems to be a very precocious child and is a keen observer. Perhaps you should listen; make sure that the boy doesn't fall into anybody's clutches. You want a Baratheon heir, not a Lannister one."

"What would you have me do?" Robert turned towards his Hand with rekindled interest.

"Give him guards that won't speak." The Lord replied simply. "I've got two of them in mind - Ilyn Payne and Sandor Clegane."

"Clegane?" Durran's father asked doubtfully. "Payne, I can understand but Clegane?"

"He's about as loyal as a dog." Jon Arryn stated matter-of-factly. "Trying to worm information out of him would be like asking a blind man about directions.", to which the red man quipped in for the first time; "He's large enough."

In this moment Durran decided to push his luck a bit further, concerning the matters of his own education. "What about Maester Pycelle?"

"What of him?" His father asked briskly.

"In this very moment he is going to my mother and tell her everything about my current state and how I appeared." The prince simply announced.

As if right on cue, Ser Barristan announced her presence outside of the chambers. Durran looked knowingly at his father while he loudly groaned. The Queen did not wait for the knight to return as she stormed in, her eyes shining with blazing fury.

"Why was I not told of this earlier?" She nearly screeched, causing his sire's face to redden in reciprocated anger. The Lord Hand gave the child a pitying glance, him and the other two men excusing themselves from the room. The king beckoned them to wait outside until this had been sorted with his wife.

"Calm down, woman! I do not answer to you!" He glared hatefully at her. It was these moments that made Durran wonder if his parents ever loved each other as he looked down.

"And you!" She turned to him "How dare you do this? Running around like some filthy little commoner! That slap was the least of things you deserved for associating with such people!"

Durran couldn't help but spill tears at his mother's tone. "I don't have anyone of my age in this place." He finally said, the clever and cunning boy now reduced into a shivering mess. His mother's eyes softened somewhat and approached him, holding him against her chest. "I worry for my little son." She whispered.

"Do you?" He bitterly replied, silencing her. Whatever softness in her features moments ago evaporated as she stood up once more, her entire demeanor turning icy. She slapped him right on his bruise, causing his father to bellow;

"OUT! OUT WITH YOU, YOU SORRY EXCUSE OF A MOTHER!"

She gave them both one last hard stare, before huffing and walking out of the room. Durran fell onto the floor, sobbing as his father picked him up and made him sit on his lap. He patted his back awkwardly, trying a few soothing words as the small child sniffled against his tunic.

"Why does she dislike me so?" He could not help but ask while looking up onto his father's saddened expression.

"It is me that she hates."

That was the last time Durran would ever cry, he vowed himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N:** **_I am still trying to figure out the pairing for this fanfiction. Daenerys/Durran or Sansa/Durran? I am personally more inclined to write the latter. _**

Robert's POV

He only ordered the two men back in when his son stopped the flow of his tears and fell asleep against his broad chest. Robert glanced at the child's now peaceful face, his own older heart broken. When did it all go so wrong? Had he been oblivious to his own heir's need to such an extent?

The child was right. The further he was from his mother's control, the better he would be. Robert was almost considering to have his son fostered, but the only option he saw was the North and that was a bit too far for his own taste.

"I take it did not go so well." Thoros said, his tone bordering sarcasm. Robert could only shake his head and sighed heavily, before speaking out in a hushed tone; "I've never seen a mother treating her own child so coldly or cruelly before."

Jon Arryn rested his palm against the child's head, his gaze sorrowful. "There is still the matter of his education. I no longer think Pycelle is truly reliable, nor is he a maester true to his vows."

The red priest slouched against the armchair. "The prince mentioned a certain Xaharos. He is an old acquaintance of mine, and I certainly owe him more than my own life. He has taken an interest in the child - and to my knowledge he only does so with promising individuals." Said child within Robert's arm was the center of his attention, his facial expression impenetrable. "I am surprised to learn that he is in King's Landing, in the guise of a book keeper."

"What of him?" Jon inquired. "Who is he?"

"Xaharos Dorhyan is a Qartheen I have met during my travels. A man of great knowledge and many trades - He completed his education at the Citadel while being a renowned alchemist in Essos. He never took the Maester's oaths however. Some say that he is much more than all that."

"One of those damned pyromancers." Robert grunted "Is he a discreet individual?"

"Very much so." Thoros affirmed, still staring at Durran. His gaze made Robert shift uncomfortably on his chair; it felt like the damned red priest knew much more that he'd let on. He then glanced at the brazier nearby his seat, the flames twirling high and dancing with unnatural fervor.

Robert was by no means superstitious, but something in this sight sent chills down his spine. The glow of the fire was cast upon his son's face, making his feature light up and stand out like a torch in the darkness. The King blinked a few times - he most likely drank a cup too much.

After a pause that seemed to border eternity, Jon finally contemplated; "Between me, this Xaharos Dorhyan, Stannis and Tyrion" - To which Robert scoffed, but was silenced by his Hand's glare - "Yes yes, Tyrion. Tyrion is quite renowned for his knowledge and wit - Believe me, out of all these Lannisters he is possibly the closest thing I have as a friend. Plus Durran has taken a liking of him. What I meant is that the prince's education would not be an issue." The man simply looked at the child with a fond smile, before reaching out for the book he was clutching so tightly against his small body.

Robert frowned in mock dismay "By the rate my son is going, if I didn't know any better I would believe that it was Stannis or Tywin who sired him. Him and his damned smarts."

"It is not a bad thing." Lord Arryn concluded.

"You mean he'd make a far better King than I ever was. I swear the Iron Throne has been molded after his ass."

* * *

Stannis's POV

Stannis often wondered if Robert would've been happier if Rhaegar picked another woman, even if he wouldn't be king then. His older brother has taken the habit of heavy drinking and neglecting his duties, spending his time ordering useless frivolities and increasing the gap in the crown's treasury. If it kept going on this way, Lord Baelish would have to take a trip to the Iron Bank of Braavos. He knew that after five years Robert was still cross at him for allowing the last Targaryens to escape - he was sure of it. If not, why would he have been granted Dragonstone instead of the family's ancestral seat, as it is his by right?

The King ordered every last Targaryens to be killed, rejoicing in the sight of the brutalized corpses of Rhaegar's children. Did he forget that father was himself half Targaryen? _Did we mayhaps inherit some of their madness?_

Robert is going from once a fine warrior to a bloating, hateful man. He despised ruling, he despised all of these endless councils meetings - he despised his duties. Stannis tried reminding him many times, only to be told off until Lord Arryn advised him otherwise; Robert would never consider any of his brother's inputs. Stannis clenched his jaws as he headed back from the tower of the Hand, his mood soured by these endless responsibilities. The King did not make them easier.

"Uncle Stan."

A small hand reached out from behind him, clasping his much larger one. Stannis squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled slowly for a while, before turning to the earnest face in front of him.

"You're scowling." The child's little voice piped up.

"I thought you said I was always scowling."

"It's not the same kind of scowl. This one is angry." He replied, undeterred.

_Since when did five years olds became so proficient at reading me?_

"What do you want, Durran?" Stannis snapped. The prince only looked up to him, a stubborn glint shining in his eyes.

"Why do you bother with all this, if it makes you so upset?"

Stannis paused for a while. "It is my duty. Just as it is yours to keep yourself safe until you inherit the throne - you will have a kingdom to rule."

The child had the decency to look abashed then. He must have realized that his uncle was referring to earlier events this day. "I know."

"With freedom comes responsibilities. You are born a prince and have duty towards the realm and it's people." His gaze softened as he looked into his nephew's large blue eyes. He was still wondering why he even humored the boy with such talks.

"What about duty to the King?"

"That is not duty. That is loyalty."

"What's the difference?"

Stannis would often forget that it was a child he was talking to. Until said child eventually comes up with a child-like answer.

"Duty is what you must do, whatever the costs. Loyalty is where your faith and allegiance lies."

"What if your allegiances goes against your duty?"

_Smart boy. He'd obviously given this some thought._

"Justice will overrule it. Justice protects the weak and innocents, and gives the sinful their punishments accordingly."

The young prince remained silent at that, looking in the distance. He was following Stannis into his own office and the older man wondered why, but kept the question to himself.

His work chamber possibly looked as dull as his personality. It was not brightly lit, had one dark brown desk with many drawers. There was a large bookcase on the right wall, while the other one was covered with maps. _A shipmaster's room - _Stannis had a hard time keeping the bitterness at bay. Durran took the seat in front of the table, the one facing his.

"Don't you have lessons?" He asked the child pointedly.

"Not today. I thought I would keep you company."

"Why me?"

"Because you have a way of telling things. "

Stannis merely glowered at that and the child answered with a cheeky smile. He just glanced through his documents instead, making a goal of ignoring the sometimes infuriating little boy in front of him. He took a sip of his favorite drink - salted lemon water.

"You're also my favorite Baratheon uncle."

Said uncle almost choked at that. He looked at his nephew's face, trying to see if there was any traces of insincerity. He found none.

"What about Renly then? Not many would say that I am their favorite in anything."

"You're blunt and say what you mean. Maybe that is what makes people dislike you."

Stannis could feel his lips quirking upwards, into what might be closest to a smile he's ever had. The way Durran puts it made it sound like a compliment, plus the child's grin seemed genuine enough.

"Renly is just a stupid pretty boy." He then proceeded to quip in, to which Stannis scoffed.

"Careful now. He is your uncle."

"He's ten."

"And you are five."

"He's still stupid. Him and his worries about pretty little clothes. Last time I saw him he spent his time parading around like a glorified peacock."

Stannis simply sighed. At least the prince did seem to value honesty, unlike most people in this forsaken place.

"Will you ever take me aboard a ship?"

_What is it with children and constant topic changes?_

"Where to?"

"Anywhere. I want to travel one day."

"Perhaps a few years from now then. Now I've got things to do."

Durran simply decided to stay there and read instead. Stannis was not sure if he should be annoyed or glad for the company. It wasn't even a few minutes later before the child asked him another question ;

"How was the siege of Storm's End?"

He was considering to send the child away - it felt like the vein at his temple was about to pop out.

"Are you sure you want to hear about this?"

Durran nodded, his eyes wide and shining with anticipation. Stannis grind his teeth audibly, willing himself to calm down before giving an answer - _why am I even putting up with this?_ It seemed like the prince was being purposefully irritating. Stannis started going on about the different strategies he undertook to defend the castle - and how bad it got after a year. How they were all reduced to famine by the end of it, the smells of rotting sickness permeating the air. How they had to eat boiled leather and rats by the end of it - how some even started eating the corpses of the fallen to sustain themselves. By the end of his tale, the boy looked horrified and Stannis could not stop to feel both a mixture of guilt and satisfaction at the child's expression. _You reap what you sow._

"Did you expect a fancy story of glorious heroes? The world is no story, boy. You best get used to that."

"I already know."

The child remained silent for a while, causing Stannis to be completely mystified by his behavior. The older man knew that he cared a great deal more than he'd like to admit about the boy in front of him. He was the only one, along with Jon, who never wished to slight him or besmirch his reputation.


	3. Chapter 3

Durran's POV

Durran was to meet his new personal guards at first lights.

Ser Ilyn stood in front of him, seeming just as intimidating as usual. His skin pale, his cold stare grim and penetrating. However, the man next to him was something else entirely. He was more than one head taller than Ser Ilyn, his torso easily the broadest he's ever seen on a man. That was not the most fearsome feature about him however; it was his face. Half of it was covered by a twisted, gruesome scar - it looked like his skin had, at some point, melted away. There was a hole in his cheek, revealing his lower jaw and teeth. The man was known as the Hound. Durran kept himself from looking at the scar for too long out of courtesy, opting to look at the man's eyes. The man in question seemed to be surprised by this.

"I am sorry for staring, Ser. That looked like it must've hurted." Durran grimaced.

"Don't give me your pity, _your grace._ And I am no ser." The man grumbled.

"Then what should I call you?"

"You can call me Dog. Like many others do."

Durran gave him a puzzled look. "That's not a nice thing to call somebody. What's your name then?". The man's undamaged eyebrow shot up in surprise, which caused the prince to simply wonder why. _Surely it can't be that bad of a question? And calling someone Dog is just downright mean._

"Sandor. Sandor Clegane."

"May I call you Sandor?"

The Hound nodded, the look of bafflement unmistakable on his face. Durran simply smiled happily.

"Then you best call me Durran. Come now, " He glanced at them both. "I have my lessons to attend."

* * *

Durran was overjoyed to learn that he no longer had to continue studying with Pycelle. His father sent men to ask if Xaharos Dohryan would like to move to the Red Keep, which he readily agreed. Durran knew that his new teacher would be well paid to sort through the royal archives, which would give him access to tremendous knowledge. The royal library was located in the cellars, just a few corridors away from where his father moved the dragon skulls. The cellar has therefore always been Durran's favorite place - Nobody dwelled there else than a few maesters. The Vault of Scrolls has not been well kept as no particular maester has been assigned to take care of it since the death of the mad king.

He was waiting for his new master to show up as he revised his numbers and finished the assignments the Grandmaester last gave him. He beckoned his two new guards to sit besides him, which they refused. Instead, they loomed behind him, the dim torchlight making their shadow's menacing.

"So, son of an accountant, hm?" The familiar voice resonated through the cold stone walls. Durran looked up, blushing with embarrassment. "I am sorry, Master Dohryan. I did not wish for my titles to give me unwarranted attention."

The hooded man simply chuckled heartily as he sat near the boy. "It was a wise choice child." He then glanced on Durran's papers, verifying his calculations. It was simple mathematics and Durran was starting to master additions, subtractions and multiplications. Pycelle saw his unusual progress and already taught him the basics of geometry. The Master sat back after a while with a satisfied smile; "You did all the exercises correctly - now let us move on to divisions."

Many weeks went on like this, where Durran would spend his time learning from dawn to late afternoon. Master Dohryan taught him many more things that Pycelle ever did; not only about mathematics, literature and politics but also astronomy, geography beyond Westeros. He also taught him basics of herbology and alchemy - such as how to recognize different sort of metals. He would challenge his opinion on many things, forcing the child to come up with means to structure his arguments. Durran did not feel bored any more, not like he did under Maester Pycelle's tutelage.

One day, instead of waiting in the library, Durran was asked to join his master in his apartments. It was on the upper levels, in a well aired area of the keep. Master Dohryan's living quarters consisted of three small rooms; one bedroom, an office and a reception room. Or at least, it used to be a reception room - now filled to the brim with an array of objects Durran has come to associate with his teacher. Satchels of herbs, scrolls, vials of all shapes and sizes; some of them had a large rounded bottom and were set on what the prince understood as a portable firepit. It was a small stone bowl holding burning coals - the opening was small enough to let one of those spheric crystal recipients sit on. Colourful liquids bubbled in some of them, the steam being then transferred to some others via long glass tubes. In front of this set-up stood four bronze cups, filled with wine and presented in a neat row.

The old man beckoned him to approach. "Out of these four, only one is poisoned." He said. "Since you have learned about common dangerous substances and how to recognize them, you need to find out which drink is has poison."

Durran eyed the goblets with misgiving as he picked them up one by one. He smelled them however he could only distinguish the wine's fruity odour - he stared at them to see if there were any unusual specks of colour. He even checked the consistency but to no avail. After a few minutes, the young boy sighed in frustration, glaring at the beverages for not giving away their secrets.

Until he realised that he had yet to look for traces. He swirled the liquids around and noticed that there was a faint black film layering the bottom of the third cup. He glanced up to his teacher who smiled approvingly at him, before asking if he could recognize the poison. Durran remembered from his previous lessons that it was called Yellow Orpiment*; it did not react to air but when it came in contact with moisture, the substance turned coppery and then black. Antidote? A mixture of Iron rust and crushed magnesite.

"In real life you should make it a reflex to verify if your food or drink is spiked with something." His master said. "However you should not spend this much time examining it, unless you wish to offend your hosts."

The prince wondered if this level of paranoia is truly necessary. The old man then went on explaining this new routine he intended to put up; every day, during class, Durran will be served tea. At times it will be poisoned, so it is up to Durran to find out if anything is amiss with his drink. He stared at his teacher as if the man has grown an additional head.

"Some of these substances cannot be detected by any means." Master Dohryan warned him. "Therefore it is of utmost importance that you judge any changes in behaviors and surroundings. When in doubt, do not drink or eat anything offered."

And so this became habitual during their lessons. For the first few weeks Durran inspected his infusions but could not discover anything wrong. After a while, his attention slowly abated until one day, before taking a sip, his teacher stopped him from doing so.

"Never let your vigilance drop. Had you have drunk this your blood would turn black and you would piss pus - needless to say your death would've been excruciating." He chuckled.

_He's crazy. Really crazy._

Having passed this lesson, they moved onto another : this time he will have to recognize a poison everyday, mixed in various edible items. This continued on for months; Durran spent most of his mornings and afternoons studying under Master Dohryan's tutelage, and spent his evenings in the company of Lord Arryn or Uncle Stannis. He asked his teacher if he could produce his own copy of _Dragons, Wyrms and Wyverns: Their unnatural history _- he knew uncle Tyrion would be back in the capital soon and wanted to gift him with something.

* * *

Sandor's POV

"You see, this is one of the many secret passages under the Keep - it would lead us to King's Landing clean water distribution system." The boy prattled on excitedly as he walked through the narrow tunnel, which forced his guards to crawl through. Sandor bit back an insult as he has been on all fours for at least ten minutes now. Durran came to an abrupt stop, before pointing at a uneven cobblestone, that happened to poke out among the others.

"It's a trap, don't step on this one." The child then gestured upwards, smiling brightly. "See these iron spikes? They'd fall on you if you did." The prospect of potentially getting impaled did not seem to stop Durran from being enthusiastic about everything at inappropriate times. He then started trailing on about Maegor The Cruel's reign and the religious uprising that caused the king then to start creating all kinds of escape routes.

_Seven fucking buggering hells._

Sandor now shared his quarters with Payne, which had been moved nearby the prince's own. For security measures, the Lord Hand said - which did not bother him one bit. The boy would often just go there and humour them in his own strange way about all sorts of topics - he even started making it a habit to simply resume all the things he'd learn from particular books. It was a small price to pay, the Hound thought, because it got him away from the hordes of cunts that lived down in the barracks. Payne was just silent, only communicative with his eyes and expressions and that suited him just fine.

Still lost in his own thoughts, they finally emerged into a large cistern. Its ceiling was vaulted and supported by large stone columns and archway - the place was dimly lit up by the many wells that led to it, letting the sun penetrate and cast its glow on the shining stream. The light was bouncing off the reflective liquid, shining in waves onto the rock surfaces - the place felt both fresh and appeasing. The man made cavern splitted into wide corridors in multiple directions, water stalong. Bordering the walls was a small stone walk way that was wide enough to let to grown men walk side by side.

"There's a passage that leads right behind the council chamber, and there's even a hole there that allows you to watch the meetings! I also remember this listening post leading right to the library too, as well as another passage near Maester Pycelle's chambers…" The boy detailed about his vast knowledge of the Red Keep. Sandor snorted - trust the boy to find spying on small council meetings _fun_. He must also certainly know quite a bit of dirt about the people here. The child turned around to face them, grinning conspiratorially: "I even saw Pycelle inviting one of mother's handmaidens to join him in his bedchamber. He asked her to get naked - he said he wanted to examine her before getting naked himself." Durran's face then scrunched up in confusion, before looking at them questioningly. "She didn't look ill though… and why would he get naked?"

Sandor barked out his laughter and even Ilyn had to smile at the child's innocence.

"You'll understand once you grow older. However don't go around telling people what you see. Might get killed for that."

The boy adorably pouted. "He looked gross, I don't like seeing him unclothed."

_I wouldn't want that either. _

Suddenly, the mute knight clasped the prince's mouth and dragged him into the shadows, hiding behind a pillar. Sandor followed the man immediately, and one glance at him made him understand that they were not longer alone. Having lost his ability to speak, Ilyn learned how to truly hear - the man could detect sounds a lot better than anyone Sandor knew. The prince looked bewildered, but the Hound gestured him to remain silent before looking around.

After while they heard footsteps resonating through the hall and a hooded man came into view. He glanced around warily, including briefly at their direction - the man had unmistakably pale eyes and long, effeminate and spidery hands. Sandor recognised him as Lord Varys, under a very astute disguise. If it wasn't for his trained observation skills he wouldn't have known. Seeing nothing suspicious, the eunuch continued his path before turning right to one of the many watery corridors. They waited until he disappeared from sight and sound before moving out of their spot.

"Who was it?" The prince asked in a hushed tone. "Why did we have to hide?"

"Lord Varys." Sandor answered. "Don't make your awareness of secret passages common knowledge."

"But why?"

"You do not know who is your enemy."

Durran seemed to ponder on his words for a while. He then brightly piped up: "So, our little secret then?"

Sandor chuckled at the child's antics while Ilyn nodded, his usual coldness having melted from his face. "Yes, our secret, little fox."

* * *

Durran's POV

The passageway the child showed them through led them to one of the maze of twisting alleys right below the Street of Flour. Durran has asked his guards to wear cloaks in order to remain unrecognized as Durran himself donned his usually lavish clothing for a roughspun tunic.

The smell of fresh baked goods filled the air and the boy quickly ran to one of the bakeries. It was a narrow house made of large, rust colored stones - from it's wall hung a wooden sign on which was written "Arabella's Pastries and Bread."

Behind the counter stood a very familiar plump woman - Arabella. Two of her many sons and daughters were busy rolling dough and baking sweet biscuits. She recognised Durran, referring to him as "Derek" before selling him the usual pastries he liked. Durran smiled from ear to ear as he learned that the woman had honeyed fig tarts.

A few minutes later he went out of the shop, ushering some honeycakes and blueberry pies he bought into his guards' hands; They glanced at each other, bemusedly, before Sandor tried to protest. Durran wouldn't hear any of that however - _who would ever refuse sweets?_

And so the boy happily wandered the streets, trailed by two gigantic men nibbling on pastries.

**A/N: **_**Yellow Orpiment is a name for Arsenic. A known antidote against arsenic poisoning is made of ferric hydroxide and manganese. Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I had fun writing it. **_


	4. Chapter 4

Durran stormed through the keep after having heard that uncle Tyrion came back during the previous night. He arrived, breathless in front his uncle's quarters before asking to be announced.

"I am sorry, my Prince. Her Grace is in there and asked for privacy."

It was only a while after that his mother finally walked out of the room. She halted abruptly and gave him a hard stare which Durran reciprocated. Whatever was exchanged in there obviously angered her, and she frowned at him, her eyes appraising his habiliment.

"You're dressed like a wildling." She said, her lips thinning.

Durran looked down at his attire - he wasn't even wearing his street tunics; instead he opted for a blue linen shirt with embroidered edges, a leather belt and pants. It was to his own opinion fine enough and practical. He then glanced at the mop of blonde hair that hid behind his mother's skirt, peering at him with large green eyes; Little Joffrey was dressed in all refined red and gold silks.

The older boy sighed; "It is my uncle that I would be seeing, mother. Not the entirety of the court."

His mother answered him with a tight lipped smile, before crossing the corridor to face him. She patted his hair down in an attempt to slick it back, her touch soft. Durran knew that even if she was at odds with him she still loved him,

His little brother piped up from behind the Queen; "I've seen the dwarf man! He is funny." Durran glared at him disapprovingly and the younger boy cowered before looking around, most likely wondering what he did wrong.

"Be mindful of your tone, little brother." He scolded "You don't want to offend more people than you should." His mother looked at him but did not cease to comb his head - she did not disagree.

Joffrey, not being the center of attention and unused to criticism, started wailing. The Queen went back to her younger son, dragging him away. _A prince does not cry. _Durran watched his mother's back as she retreated from him, his younger brother's cries fading with the distance.

"Thank the Gods that one isn't the first born." Lord Tyrion's cynical voice broke him from his trance. He spun around quickly and hugged his uncle, his mood immediately lifting.

"What took you so long?" He exclaimed, in mock offence. His uncle simply winked at him, a warm grin lighting up his expression. It is odd, Durran thought, that he is now almost at uncle Tyrion's height. The older man stared at him, noticing the changes in his nephew.

"You've grown quite a bit." He remarked, before the prince was led into his study. Durran sat on a lavish red sofa before he was offered refreshments by the servant standing nearby. The boy asked from some honeyed lemon water - he never fared with the salty taste as well as did the Lord of Dragonstone. "So…" His uncle reached out for his wine. "Seems like my dearest sister has been causing trouble?"

Durran considered his next words - he did not feel inclined to describe the complexity of the relation he is having with his own mother. At least not completely. "I'm just...not like her the way she'd want me to be." He stated.

His uncle sat back against his seat, watching the child with a compassionate eye. "Ah, Cersei...Cersei. Anything that wouldn't fit her schemes and plans are seen as blemishes to her personal honor."

The boy met his uncle's gaze and found his reflection - in more ways than one. It is known that his mother never had any consideration for her younger brother, in fact it is like she outright hated him. Durran couldn't understand why, but then again he never really knew why his mother favored Joffrey over him so much. These were the things one could never really explain.

"You aren't unfamiliar with this." The prince noted. A heavy silence then reigned between them, causing Durran to feel quite uncomfortable at his uncle's intense stare. Uncle Tyrion's expression turned indecipherable before sighing heavily, taking a sip from his cup. "I suppose it is so."

After a short while, the man leaned towards the front, his elbows resting on his knees and fully facing Durran. "Enough of this grim talk - what have you been up to?"

Relieved by the topic change, the young prince started talking about his various adventures - from the ones that ended up well to the ones that finished badly. He explained the multiple changes in his personal life - from his education to his guards. Uncle Tyrion seemed greatly surprised that his teacher isn't a maester, but a pyromancer - but then he affirmed that the alchemists are just as knowledgeable than any maesters. It is just unheard of, that they would teach someone that isn't an apprentice.

Durran went on asking his uncle about his own mission, but uncle Tyrion preferred that it's details remain undisclosed. From what the boy understood, there has been a few problems with one of the Lannister's many gold mines - the profits did not directly go to the family's wealth. Instead, there was well hidden thievery and tax avoidances. Uncle Tyrion explained him the importance of being able to make finances and numbers sing the truth.

"The spice traders' guild in Lannisport for instance. I have found a minor detail in their income reports that caught my interest." His uncle said. "Oddly enough, they were paying _too much taxes._"

"Why would a merchant, let alone a whole guild, pay more taxes than they should?" Durran asked, completely baffled. "Unless they are trying to hide something?"

Uncle Tyrion laughed out loud. "My clever, clever nephew. That is why I also went to Lannisport to investigate on the issue. Turns out they were trying to conceal a black market!"

"What's a black market?" The prince inquired.

His uncle then explained the nature of such illicit trades and the importance of legal price controls. Durran was very intrigued by these topics, understanding the necessity of good policies to ensure economical growth and stability - a well learned monarch could make a nation prosper. A king that over-taxes a hungry population is begging to get his head on a spike, therefore he might need to take other initiatives in times of hardship. They were both very absorbed in the present conversation, until Durran remembered that he had yet to give his uncle his gift.

He produced the heavy tome from his satchel, setting it on the table. Uncle Tyrion looked at the book's title in obvious wonder. "Where on earth did you get this?"

"I copied it myself. It's for you." Durran replied, feeling proud of his own work. His uncle looked up to him, his large green eyes appearing moist for a fraction of a second.

"Thank you, nephew. You do not know how much it means to me." The boy could hear a slight tremor to the man's voice. Uncle Tyrion looked borderline solemn, and it would've been comical if Durran did not see how emotional his uncle got. _It was such a small thing. _He got up, before sitting nearby the older man and embracing him tightly.

"I am thankful that you will be the King, and not someone else."

_With privileges comes duty and responsibility, _Uncle Stannis's words resonated in the back of his mind. He simply opted to smile warmly at uncle Tyrion.

They spent the rest of the morning playing cyvasse and indulging in discussions about books.

* * *

Sandor's POV

The little prince was sitting in front of the small fireplace, cross legged and reading them _The Conquest of Dorne,_ which was written by King Daeron I - It was all about glorious battles and heroes. _Loads of horseshit, _if anyone wanted to hear his thoughts. Since it has been written by the victor himself, Sandor was quite certain that King Daeron probably exaggerated everything, including the size of the enemy forces. _Cunts, and their cuntish egos. _

"And you tell me that you believe everything written there?" He snorted.

The boy looked up for a moment, hesitating: "It is a first hand account."

Sandor continued to untie the leather fastenings that held his armour together, chuckling at the child's obvious innocence. It had been a long while since he was last like that - believing in heroes and fairy tales. Durran might be bright but he is no different from other children. "I have seen battle." He said "Real battle - it is nothing heroic. And Dornish ships don't look anything like _hovels built on rafts._"

Ilyn simply nodded at the prince, confirming Sandor's words. The mute man has become more and more expressive lately, and did his best to participate in conversations. A very noticeable change for anyone that knew him previously - back then he was simply content with staring off into the distance, or fixating you with his unnerving eyes.

"Well," The prince paused, pondering on his words. "Uncle Stan did call King Daeron's account _vainglorious_."

"Best listen to that Lordly uncle of yours, little fox. He knows what he is talking about." Sandor rasped out - it is true that Stannis Baratheon was the least insufferable of them all. He never got the chance to personally talk to the Lord of Dragonstone, but he did witness his actions and words. Lord Baratheon was perhaps one of the rare people of King's Landing the Hound would respect. "This book was written by a King in an attempt to boost his own ego, based on a campaign he ended up losing in the very end." He then added.

Durran smiled: "But if there is anything that can be remembered from this book, it would be this: '_The arms of House Martell display the sun and spear, the Dornishman's two favourite weapons, but of the two, the sun is the more deadly'."_ The young prince then snapped the book shut, setting it aside. Sandor watched him pull out his little board and stylus, obviously working on some assignments he was given. This child was a polar opposite to his younger brother - who was growing to become a little shit, the Hound could tell. He started out with guarding Joffrey, who would order him around like the good dog he was - the day he was asked to be Durran's shadow was an amazing day indeed. The Little Fox was calm, studious and clever - he was kind, and showed the Hound and the Mute kindness they have never known before. Sandor would swear a vow for this child, he knew it.

"Sandor, do you think that the Earth is round? Or is it flat?" The prince's curious voice interrupted his thoughts.

"I think it is flat." Sandor answered, the last pieces of his armor finally coming off. He scuffled around for a wet towel, intent on removing the grime and stench from his protective layer.

"Why so?"

"If not, how can we walk on it?" Sandor spun around, looking at Durran once more. The boy's face was lit up with a grin - the Hound realised that the child knew the answer but wanted to ask him anyways.

"Master Xaharos made me read excerpts which claimed that the Earth was spherical. He told me to try and prove this." The prince frowned, obviously in deep thought.

"Bugger me if I know. I am no damned Maester." The Hound grunted. Whether the earth is spherical or not wouldn't change a thing in his life - _bloody intellectuals and their ideas._ He observed the boy scribbling a few things down. The child sensed his gaze, and met it: "You don't even want to know?"

"Knowing it won't change a damn thing when I slice down someone."

"Oh well." Durran looked a bit disappointed, before brightening up once more, "I'll still tell you anyways. And I am sure Ser Ilyn is interested." He looked to said knight expectantly, but the mute man just stared back at him.

The prince somehow, _somehow_ managed to take that as a "yes" and went on. "I was thinking that when travelling at sea the sailors see the highest points first, such as mountain tops, before seeing the lower land mass." To Sandor's great surprise, Ilyn nodded once more - _so he was interested, after all._ "This is the reason why lighthouses are usually tall right?" The child continued.

Despite his earlier convictions, Sandor couldn't help but wonder where the boy was getting at. "Some piss drunk mariners did tell me that one would see the Titan before seeing Braavos."

"So if the Earth was flat, how come do we see higher points before seeing the rest?" Durran smiled widely, coming to the conclusion himself. "This can only be explained if there is a certain curvature to the Earth, that would prevent us from seeing everything except tall objects." He then waved showed Sandor the drawings he made on his little clay tablet ; the first one had a straight line, and two objects at each ends of the line. There was a line poking out vertically from one of the objects, signifying something of high altitude. An arrow representing vision led from the first object to the second one. The second drawing had a curved line instead ; logically, that meant only the tall vertical line could be visible, and not the object below it.

Sandor understood what the child meant - This came out of the prince's little head? _Seven hells._

**A.N:**_** It is a common modern misconception to think that scholars during the medieval era believed that the earth was flat. The sphericity of the earth has been an undisputed fact since the 3rd century. However, I don't think this was common knowledge among normal people back then. **_


	5. Chapter 5

"Your grace, are you even listening to me?" The master at arms borderline yelled, looking bewildered.

The prince just wanted to toss the sword away, the blazing heat not doing anything to soothe his frustration. He has been at it for _hours_ and he absolutely despised it. These swingings, these steps, they made absolutely no sense! He did what the knight told him to do but all he ended up with are vicious bruises. Every time he tried landing a blow he was rapidly countered and the man made sure to state his disapproval. There was always something wrong; his reflexes, his footworks, his badly learned moves...

Durran's body ached all over. He has been having sparring lessons daily for over a month now and he hated it - he realized that Ser Aron Santagar's patience ran thin with him by the end of his deplorable displays. He wished he could have his old schedule back, where he would study with Master Dohryan from mid morning until late afternoon. The first day, he has asked for Ser Aron's opinion by the end, but the man only shook his head and admitted that the boy was probably the worst first timer he ever had. However he did say that there is time, and improvements would come with it, but Durran was not half as optimistic about it. The thought of wooden swords hitting him already caused him to flinch internally, let alone the thought of steel swords - even blunted ones.

The prince was aware that soon enough he might be referred to as craven. And that in a few years, his father would grow disappointed by him; the King wanted him to be a fierce warrior, but seeing today's performance it was very unlikely. _A good swordsman is not necessarily a powerful man _- Durran tried to comfort himself. After all, Lord Baelish was no fighter yet he started from nothing. Not even nobility and now he is master of coin.

"I know I will not be able to make anything brilliant out of you, but the least you can do is learn to defend yourself!" Ser Santagar finally said, shaking his head in dismay. "With sufficient training, you might become decent." He added after a while.

The prince simply glared at the wooden sword in his hand. If physical strength was the only thing that mattered, then any wildlings could easily become king. The soldiers are the ones dying, while the smarter men are the ones ruling - one does not need brawl to have smarts. _No matter how good of a warrior my father is, does not make him a good monarch. More of a puppet in the hands of others..._ He steeled himself and tried to concentrate on the task at hand - since he was going to spend time learning this _stupid _skill he might just as well try.

* * *

The week long trip to Casterly Rock has been dull, and Durran was more than happy to leave the saddle. He was not used to riding for so long and that gave him a fair amount of discomfort. The Prince had always wanted to meet his grandfather since he was a toddler; he heard many tales of him. A man of great cunning and intelligent who brought great prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms while he was the Hand of the Mad King. He was therefore a very capable ruler - one Durran thinks his mother tries to emulate, albeit poorly. It took him days of constantly nagging his father to let him go, especially since the King was less than thrilled with his poor combat skills. He could see a glimmer of pride in his mother's eyes when she was told of his request, however he was not doing that for her.

The fact that little Joffrey resents him from even stealing a few minutes of the Queen's attention did nothing to improve his perception of her. She spoiled his younger brother and cares for him in ways she has never done with her firstborn.

His father considers the Lord of the Westerlands an ally, but does not truly trust him. Something Durran understood, considering how his grandfather waited until the last moment to join the rebellion. The prince cared little for this - what lies in the past is best left in the past.

They were soon there, and agreed to progress in a slow trot, giving time for a messenger to announce the prince's arrival beforehand. The child did not like the idea of a large travelling party, instead opting for his guards, master and a few Lannister cousins. Durran could see Lannisport down in the valley - the city, albeit smaller than King's Landing, was still a large settlement. However it looked much more clean and well run than the capitol, it's white stoned houses shining in the afternoon. The streets were neatly and geometrically structured, designed to facilitate an attack from the sea. There were four circles of stone ramparts, which got taller the closer it was to the surrounding mountains. The city was made to withstand an attack from the sea, where it was naturally the most vulnerable.

The shadow of the Rock shielded the town from the summer's sun, the fortress glistening as if it was made of gold. The child understood why Casterly Rock has never been breached - there was only one flight of stairs that led to the fortress, and it allowed a row of ten men to stand and fight. It's natural defences are further enhanced with large, thick stone walls. Durran could see many windows carved within the stony hill itself - the Lannisters weren't content with living in the manmade keep but underneath it too.

When they were at the fortress's gates, the prince climbed down from his horse in all the grace he could muster. In front of him stood his Lordly grandfather, his hair thinning and his emerald eyes piercing the child's own sapphire ones. His silhouette was stark against the sunlight, his shoulders broad, his stature strong and older man had a tight smile and Durran knew that he was not used to joyful facial expressions. It was expected of a Lord to greet a prince first, but the child knew that this won't do; He did aim for a much more personal relation with Lord Tywin. He decided to skip the formalities a Lord is owed, opting for the one a Grandsire should receive.

He bowed slightly, causing the older man's eyes to widen. Durran plastered a wide and warm grin on his face: "My Lord Grandfather."

The Lion did not expect Durran to salute him first, and opted to simply nod at him: "Your Grace."

The Prince couldn't help but let his grin widen when he realised that Lord Tywin resembled Uncle Stannis in more ways than one; the introverted no-nonsense type that cared more about propriety that he'd like to admit. No wonder why Lord Tyrion's behavior did not put him in his father's good graces. However, this meant that the boy would have great fun. He gracefully skidded towards the older man, his cloak billowing behind him in a trained manner. He held his grandfather's hands; "I do find it unnecessary to have my Grandsire address me in such a formal way." Durran smiled, gauging the man's reactions. "Unless such an early display of familiarity is bothersome to you?"

The boy had to admit that he found his grandfather's cool mask impressive; one would have to look into his eyes to notice a shift in expression. Warmth due to the prince immediately mentioning the family ties - Durran could only hope.

"No, I do not believe familiarity between a grandsire and a grandson is to be frowned upon." The man acquiesced stiffly, his gaze impenetrable.

"Then I insist that you call me by my name, Grandfather." Durran said, enthusiastically as he was led through the drawbridge, his little hand held by Lord Tywin's much larger one.

"I trust that the trip has not been too tiring?" The man asked. "I expected a larger group convoying you."

"I think my two guards are more than adequate to protect me. A larger group would've slowed us down, and it would've made me more of a burden to you." Durran explained. His Grandfather no longer concealed his appraisal, fully keeping his eyes on the child instead. "As for the trip, it has been dull, but I do believe I should be thankful for that."

"Oh?"

The Prince did not understand why his grandfather was surprised by his statement. He looked up to the man curiously; "Well that means we weren't attacked by bandits or anything of the sort, so yes."

"Most children would've complained about how utterly boring it is." Lord Tywin's tone was clipping. "It is a good thing that you manage to see beyond that."

Durran simply smiled at that. "I am glad."

They walked through the inner courtyard that led to a large iron gate. Durran could see how thick it was, and even if it was there for defensive purposes it was very richly decorated. It was double leafed and on each sides were vines carved in intricate patterns surrounding a large roaring lion, all tipped in gold. Several men were needed to open the door - the leafs swung backwards, revealing a wide corridor. The floor was tiled with white marble, reflecting the light from the large, ceiling reaching widows; it gave an impression of grandeur. While the Red Keep was richly and colourfully decorated, Casterly Rock was all in subtle whites, beige and golden hues. Many portraits were hung on the walls, all having a small brass plaque underneath indicating their names. So this was where all the Lannister Lords stood since Lann the clever. It was absolutely fascinating for Durran could notice the stylistic changes in the paintings as the years progressed.

"In all honesty I did not expect a visit from the crown prince on such a short notice." Lord Tywin interrupted the boy's observations.

"It took me a good while of nagging my parents to let me go." The prince couldn't help but flash a cheeky smile. "If mother had her way, she'd have me locked in a tower."

"So this was of your own initiative?" His grandfather's eyebrows rose, a smirk adorning his lips. "Impressive."

"I've always hoped to meet you. I heard many things of you." Durran spoke excitedly.

"Good things, I hope?"

"Great things."

**A.N:**_** He just can't be perfect...**_


End file.
